


Nature's Blessings

by theterribletyrian



Category: Guild Wars
Genre: Family, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Nightmare Court (Guild Wars), Soundless (Guild Wars), Sylvari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5409566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theterribletyrian/pseuds/theterribletyrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sem visits his podmate Illy in the Grove (solely to catch up with her).  At present, he is engaged in recruiting Soundless for the Nightmare Court, under the auspices of his contact there, Rahenna.  He is not yet part of the Court himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nature's Blessings

**Author's Note:**

> * TIMELINE: This scene is set some time before Mordremoth awoke.  
> 
> * THANKS: To Nox from my awesome RP guild [Mist] (The Mistwatch Initiative), for providing the writing challenge prompt that led to this piece!  
> 

“Sem, I don't like what you're doing.”

She says this quietly, without looking at me. Her familiar gaze -- turned blindly now towards the lilac spiral of the Pale Tree's Circle -- holds no disgust; I know this without having to see it. Nonetheless I feel reproached; such has always been her effect on me. All our lives she has been the gentle hand on the reins of my passion, cool water to my heat. A beacon to guide me through the madness. Fainter and fainter, these days, but still present. For now.

We are high up in the Grove, legs hanging off the edge of a large solitary mushroom that sprouts incongruously over a vast expanse of empty air. Far below us, a fern-feathered walkway marks a coral trail to a house I have carefully avoided for my past few visits. Kahedins has much to say to me, and I have no heart to hear his words. Once, he was close as a father to both me and the woman at my side. But we are more than estranged, now. We are at war. He and Ildirim on one side; I on the other.

It doesn't feel like war, though. Not when I last saw our mentor face to face, and not now with Illy's hand clasped in mine. If not for the years that have passed -- years during which she and I chose radically different and opposing paths -- we could be saplings again. Newly-woken, bursting with anticipation. I can still see that eagerness in my podmate, woven seamlessly now into the serene demeanour that comes most naturally to her. Beside her, I feel as dark as I look, and jaded beyond redemption. I wonder if she cares.

On the face of it, we are technically enemies. Yet it was her idea to meet up again, her hand that took mine in that easy, affectionate grasp. From anyone else, I would suspect a trap, but from Illy? No. She has always made the first move, and it has always been genuine.

"I know you don't like it." I lean back on my other hand, face lifted to the sunlight streaming through the open canopy. I don't get enough of this in the Court. Most of them, turned, seem to lose their liking for that life-giving warmth. But I am not yet wholly theirs, and can't give it up. It's glorious: soaking deep into my limbs, intoxicating as honey. "I've never asked you to help."

She makes a faint sound, of amusement or disbelief. "Because you know I wouldn't."

"Why is that, anyway?" I murmur, and now I have her undivided attention.

"Why?" she asks, incredulous. "Why won't I help you turn lost sylvari toward that corrupted abomination you call a court, away from the Dream that truly sustains them?"

I shake my head. "No. Why do you believe that the _Dream_ is good for them? For us?"

"Because we feel it in our veins, in that connection to one another, to the Pale Tree. In the way we love one another. Because love is life, Sem, and what we have is a Dream of life. What you and your fellows suggest as an alternative, or the dislocated, lonely independence of those you try to recruit ... it's no choice at all. Where are you all headed, but towards your ultimate destruction -- alone?"

Her face is expressive, despite the crossed bands of embroidered cloth that cover her eyes. In the delicate tension of her cheeks, the way the bark tightens minutely around her mouth, I read all her dismay -- and care. She still cares. I let out a breath I didn't even realise I was holding.

"Illy. We're all going to die, sooner or later. We live longer than many of the other races, but by violence or sickness, death will come for you and I, too. Being part of the Court doesn't accelerate that process any more than some of your Wyld Hunts do. You don't see any of _them_ trying to take out Elder Dragons, or cleanse Orr." I shake my head, staring down at our intertwined fingers. "If anything, they have a better life expectancy than you lot. And so will I, once I have proven myself to them."

Her laughter is unexpected. "Oh, Sem. It's not about avoiding death. A Dream of life is about making one's life _count_. We have our Wyld Hunts, and our everyday desire to improve and better ourselves and those around us; we have our compassion, our good works, our striving for knowledge. We build on what we know, draw strength from our shared purpose, always growing. Always learning. But you, and the Court ..." She trails off, and looks away again. "You don't grow things; you tear them down. All you have is yourselves, each ultimately to his own, none with a hand outstretched to help another. Only your plots, and machinations, and cruel, cold victories."

I shift restlessly. "You make it sound so tragic."

"That's because it is." Her hand tightens for an instant, a reassuring pressure echoed in my heart. "Sem. I know you have to choose your own path. I know that we're," she hesitates for a second, "at odds, right now. But I love you. You know that, right?"

"And I love you, twig girl. Doesn't that mean you're wrong, and Courtiers _do_ care about others?"

She smiles, and it's like the sun is shining just for me. "You're not a Courtier yet. No, it means that I haven't given up on you. It means there's still hope for my podmate. My best friend." Her voice softens. "My very own blessing." She's talking about something Kahedins said once -- that we were all gifts of nature bestowed upon one another -- but even that doesn't ruin my mood.

We sit in silence for a while, and I feel as warmed by her words as I do by the golden afternoon. This, though I'd never admit it, is why I return whenever her parrot drops by with a message. This is why I risk being so close, again, to the Pale Tree I once called Mother. I have friends and lovers among both the Court and my silent brethren, but nobody can replace Ildirim.

* * *

A little way down the path, nearly facing us across the open gap that yawns beneath our dangling feet, a couple talks in hushed tones. My head turns as their conversation grows heated, the woman's voice rising in dismay.

"I don't understand. The Dream feeds us!"

Her companion sounds frustrated. "It doesn't feed me. It forces itself down my throat until I'm gagging on it." Something in me perks up at the words, the antennae of my own dark discomfort tuning in sharply.

"But what will you do? Where will you go?" the woman says, clearly at a loss.

He pauses, marshalling his words. "I need to find a quiet corner of the world just for me, where I have only my own emotions to deal with." _Another Soundless_ , I think. Then: _Rahenna will be pleased_.

Just like that, the sunlight is gone. Chilled, I glance up, past the Omphalos Chamber. Clouds scud across the sky, fleeing the night as it draws near. Rain is coming.

"Illy." Her head cocks slightly. "I have to go." What I mean, and what she hears -- because she loves me, because she knows me -- is that the line between us has been drawn once again. An expression of pain flashes across her face, so intense it makes me wince. I open my mouth to apologise. Then I close it again, slowly. There is nothing I can say to make this better. There never is.

"Alright." She's silent a moment. I get to my feet, but before I can disengage my hand from hers, she clutches it tightly. "Treesong go with you, Sem. I know you don't want it," she adds, forestalling my objection before I can voice it. "But take it anyway. With my love."

I touch her snow-white branches once, gently. "Take care of yourself, twig girl." Then I pull free, and walk away.

Behind me, the soon-to-be-Soundless man speaks again. "I must go. I must find a way to break this curse." A grim smile touches my lips. _Another of nature's blessings, ripe for the picking_. I don't bother to approach him, or ask his name. He'll come to me himself, and then ...

I pick up my pace, all thoughts of warmth forgotten. The Court awaits.


End file.
